Page 115 of Scars and Crowns

And my traitorous eyes decide this is the perfect time to notice absolutely everything. I already know about the tattoos on his right arm.

I remember sitting beside him in a tiny tattoo studio years ago, clutching his hand while he pretended the needle didn't hurt nearly as much as it clearly did. He'd laughed the entire time just because I looked more nervous than he did.

But these . . . These are new.

A delicate wave curling beneath a rising sun wraps around his left forearm. Two swallows stretch across the inside of the other arm, frozen mid-flight, every feather so carefully inked they almost look alive.

And then my gaze drifts higher. Right above his heart. Daisy.

The air catches somewhere in my throat. I can't look away. It's almost unfair, how something so tiny manages to steal every bit of attention from the rest of him.

"Mumma!" Sara's delighted voice pulls me back to earth. "I want to colour Mister's tattoos." She proudly holds up a yellow marker. "They're only black. They need colours." She tilts her head critically. "I think the birds should be blue."

I blink. "Sara, sweetheart . . . I don't think tattoos are really meant to—"

Before I can finish, Yuvaan crosses the room. In one easy movement he scoops Sara into his arms, settling her comfortably against his hip. "Anything for my Princess."

Sara squeals loud enough to shake the windows. "I knew you'd say yes!"

"I usually do." He kisses the top of her head. "I've accepted my fate."

She wraps both arms around his neck dramatically. "I love when you accept your fate."

"I've noticed." His eyes lift to mine. "So has your mother."

The corner of his mouth twitches. He knows exactly how flustered I am. I hate that he knows. I hate even more that I love that he knows. He settles onto the edge of the bed with Sara still perched on his lap and stretches one arm out obediently.

"There. I am officially your canvas."

Sara gasps in delight. "Mumma!" She waves another marker enthusiastically. "You have to help."

"I think you've got this covered."

"No." She shakes her head with tremendous authority. "It'll look prettier if both of us do it."

I look helplessly at Yuvaan. He doesn't rescue me. Of course he doesn't. Instead, he picks up the marker lying beside him and holds it out toward me. "You heard the artist." His voice is warm with barely restrained amusement. "Participation is compulsory."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're enjoying this."

"Immensely." He doesn't even try denying it.

I sigh with all the dignity I can manage, which isn't much considering my face is burning. "Fine."

I sit beside him. Far too close. Close enough that the warmth radiating from his skin brushes against mine. Close enough to catch the clean scent of sandalwood soap lingering after his shower. Close enough that I can see the tiny imperfections in the ink of the daisy above his heart.

My hand lifts almost on instinct. My fingertips stop just above the flower. "This . . . " My voice comes out much quieter than I intend. "When did you get this?"

His eyes don't leave my face. "A few years ago."

I look back at the tattoo. "A few years . . . "

The words barely come out. "For who?"

A smile touches his lips. "You." He says it as simply as breathing. "In case you were planning to pretend otherwise."

Something squeezes painfully around my heart. I look up at him again. "You tattooed a daisy . . . " My breath stills. "For me?"

"I did." His voice lowers. "I wanted something that reminded me of home." A pause. "Then I realised you were home." The room suddenly feels much smaller. Much quieter. Even Sara seems to fade into the background for a heartbeat.